


(Just Like) Starting Over

by Classic_Rocker2000



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Drug Use, F/M, Inspired by many other fics where Paul went back in time, Internalized Homophobia, John is a bisexual disaster, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Other, Panic Attacks, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slice of Life, Supernatural Elements, Time Travel AU, tags to be added later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:20:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25483846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Classic_Rocker2000/pseuds/Classic_Rocker2000
Summary: After getting shot, John fully expected either oblivion or hell. With the way he'd treated people in the past, he thought it was the least he deserved. And then, he woke up in Hamburg in 1960. Now, he's left to deal with the resulting fallout from dying while also trying to change things for the better.
Relationships: Astrid Kirchherr/Stuart Sutcliffe, Brian Epstein/John Lennon, Cynthia Lennon/John Lennon, George Harrison & John Lennon & Paul McCartney & Ringo Starr, John Lennon/Stuart Sutcliffe, John Lennon/Yoko Ono
Comments: 18
Kudos: 43





	1. Life Begins at Forty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John wakes up twenty years in the past

**December 8, 1980**

Everything hurt.

Of course, John knew he should have expected that, considering he'd just been shot in the back four times, but nothing had prepared him for the intense pain that came with that. From the moment his legs had given out from under him, something deep in the back of his mind told him that he was dying.

He didn't want to go. Not now, just when things had started coming into place. But the more John tried to deny this reality, the more cognizant he became of his organs starting to shut down, and his vision, bad as it already was, fading in and out, a sort of white dot at the centre-most point of his vision. All he wanted to do was to see his young son, Sean, one last time, but something else in the back of his mind told him that even if that were a possibility, he wouldn't last long enough for that to happen.

And then, John thought to himself, _John, don't be selfish like that... He doesn't need to be seeing you dying like this._

As he struggled to keep his eyes open, as two police officers picked him up and carried him towards a police car, his thoughts turned to all the people who'd come in and out of his life. Images of everyone he'd ever loved filled his mind, and as his life flashed before his eyes, John desperately wanted to see everyone one last time. In regards to the people who'd since passed away, John hoped only to see them again soon, though they'd probably berate him for dying so soon, and maybe for all the dumb mistakes he'd made in his forty years as well. 

John wished that there was something he could say to Yoko, to tell her that he would be fine, but he knew that even if he could catch his breath and find the words, there was likely nothing he could say that would prevent her from mourning him. He wanted to see Julian one last time and apologize for being such a shit father, and to Cynthia as well, as he remembered how he'd been so unkind to her during their marriage and especially the divorce. He wanted to talk to Paul and Ringo one last time and to apologize to George for the fact that they were on such bad terms nowadays. John knew in retrospect that it was really stupid of him to be angry with Geo over a book, among other things. 

Most of all, he felt regret for every mistake he'd made in his life, and desperately wished for a chance to go back and fix everything.

As his sight began to fail him, he heard one of them ask, "Are you John Lennon?"

John tried to speak, but all he could manage was a faint gurgling sound that caused him to cough up more blood. He was still fighting to stay conscious, but knew, deep down, that at this point, there was no hope. True, he'd known from the start, but as the seconds had passed, it had only become more and more apparent. He didn't want to believe that he was dying right at this point in time, but he knew that fighting it would only draw out both the physical pain he was feeling right now, and possibly also whatever mental anguish he'd have to deal with in the afterlife, knowing he was about to leave a wife and a young son behind.

He barely had time to feel the car start moving before his eyes closed, and as his life flashed before his eyes, he felt his heart come to a stop as he slipped into unconsciousness.

***

When John regained consciousness again and felt the absence of pain, something inside him just knew he was dead. On the one hand, John was thankful that it no longer hurt, but on the other hand, part of him was weeping, mourning what he'd just lost. He knew he hadn't been the best person in life, and he didn't know if he should expect heaven or hell. He knew that if he'd been lucky enough to make it into heaven, he'd spend as much time as possible trying to make it up to Eppy for all the times he'd teased him for being queer, and maybe even Stu for not sticking up for him and getting them in that fight with those sailors. But there were other people whom he'd hurt just as much, if not more, like his older son, Julian. _God, what I wouldn't give to go back and be a better father to him now,_ John thought.

For a few moments more, he seemed to hover in a space outside of reality, unsure of whether the afterlife was really an endless expanse of nothing or if it was just because the dead probably couldn't feel anything by touch.

Then, unexpectedly, John felt sensations coming back to him, namely the sounds of breathing, maybe even snoring, which confused John, who'd assumed that dead people didn't need to sleep, much less breathe. He could also feel rough wood beneath his fingertips, which didn't help his growing sense of alarm. For a few moments more, he kept his eyes tightly shut, fearing that he'd open them to find he was in hell. Maybe he deserved it, but it still wasn't something John wanted, even accounting for all his misdeeds in life.

Despite his fears, the thought of seeing his mum and Stu and Eppy again was tempting, to the point of half-driving John crazy, even. Eventually, John conceded that he'd have to open his eyes sooner rather than later.

And when he did, he was shocked to find himself in a certain storeroom that he recognized very well from those days in Hamburg.

John sat bolt upright, brown eyes wide with shock. Having only the slightest awareness of the heavy breaths he took, he glanced frantically about in an almost mad state of confusion. He could see a younger Paul and George nearby in the dim light, and not much farther away, similarly in makeshift beds, John could see Pete, whom he hadn't seen much of since 1962, and...

_Stu?!_

John wasn't sure how the hell any of this was happening. He knew Paul, Pete, and George were nearing forty and that he hadn't really seen much of them in years, and yet here they were, all of them so much younger than when John had last known. Given that Stu had died back in 1962, it would have been easy for John to accept it if it was just him and Stu. It would have been a logical conclusion, then, that they both were in the afterlife. _But then again,_ John realized, _why would we both be back here of all places? Hamburg was good for the experience, but god, I'd rather be anywhere else right now. ...Is this just Stu's idea of heaven and my idea of hell? Seems unlikely..._

And then, almost in an instant, John realized two things: first, he was out of breath for the second time in less than a day and was practically hyperventilating; second, he could feel his heart pounding in his chest, so much so that John feared it might burst. For a few seconds more, John couldn't comprehend what was going on, with the most obvious answer being the most incomprehensible. But from all the evidence that was staring him plain in the face, it was an answer John slowly realized was the most plausible

_I- ...I'm alive?!_

It took everything within John's power not to scream, though he did hear a sound come from his throat that was somewhere between a squeak and a whimper. He had no idea how in the hell any of this was possible, having been taught all his life that, after death, he could expect either heaven, hell, or, as he switched gears to Buddhism, reincarnation. There was absolutely nothing to prepare him for the prospect of having to live the last twenty years of his life all over again. Screwing his eyes shut, he pinched himself on the shoulder, hoping that he'd wake up to find himself back in New York City. At least that way, he could wake up next to Yoko and he could see Sean again.

But upon opening his eyes again, he still saw himself staring at younger (and in one case, still living) versions of his band mates.

John wanted to cry, knowing now that he would never see Sean and Yoko again. And even if he did see them again, God only knew if it would be the same as it had been. Even if he met Yoko again and still had a child with her, there was absolutely no guarantee that it would result in the same Sean he'd known. But John forced himself to stay calm, not wanting to wake his band mates, least of all Geo, whom John remembered to be a light sleeper. As much as he wanted to scream to the heavens about why he was here, alive again, as opposed to being in the afterlife or being born again, but in a new body, John kept quiet.

Taking deep breaths, John rubbed at his eyes, trying to keep himself from crying. He knew he wouldn't be able to bottle everything up forever, but he was determined to wait until he had a moment or two alone to let everything out. Deep down, he knew this was highly irrational, but he didn't care to try and find some explanation that the others would buy.

He wanted desperately to get out of here, to get a breath of fresh air, but right now, he didn't trust himself on the Reeperbahn alone right now. He could still feel a dull ache where the bullets had hit him, but so far as he could tell, there were no visible scars left behind. Resigning himself to this current state of affairs, John sighed, burying his face in his hands. Sure, he didn't want to be dead, but reliving the past twenty or so years of his life seemed just as incomprehensible an idea.

John glanced back at Stu, who was sleeping rather peacefully aside from the occasional bout of squirming. He could still remember coming into Hamburg that fateful day in April only to find out that Stu had died the day before, and it pained John to realize that he'd have to go through it all over again.

And then, John thought, _Wait, what if I could find a way to save Stu?_

It was a lofty goal, sure, but it helped get his mind off Sean and Yoko, which he desperately needed right now. He didn't want to think how Yoko was probably being told of his death right now, and especially not how she'd have to explain to their son that he'd died.

Instead, John turned his thoughts towards how on earth he was going to keep Stu from dying.

Given that Stu had died from a brain bleed, John had absolutely no idea where he was going to start. But in a flash, it came back to him. How they'd been roughed up by a rowdy group of sailors towards the end of 1961, about four months before Stu died. He'd been kicked around a bit, even receiving a blow to the head at one point, but at the time, he seemed fine.

But then two months later, the headaches had started. He could remember hearing later on that some were so severe that Stu had been left temporarily blind. If anything, that just made John even more determined to prevent his friend's suffering further down the line. His thought was, _If I can just keep the two of us from getting in that fight. Then, Stu will be alright, and then he'll get to finish art school and marry Astrid._

The more he thought, the more he realized he could also save Eppy and Mal from their fates.

It was about that moment that John realized that, even if he still had to deal with the pain of dying and losing Sean and Yoko, he now had the opportunity to change the past for the better.

Still, John wasn't sure how he felt about that. Part of him felt excited that he had the chance to fix certain things about the past, another part of him was worried that either changing the past would majorly fuck something up down the road or that no matter what he did, nothing would change between this and the last twenty years of his life, and the last part of him was still trying to process the fact that he'd just died.

John knew he was overthinking it and that he should probably try and get some sleep, knowing that those Hamburg days had been host to long hours on stage and lots of pep pills, but John didn't want to. He just knew he would probably have nightmares about what had just happened, and even then, he was still too hyped up on adrenaline to really consider falling asleep.

Still, there wasn't much else to do right now, so John just laid down, occupying himself with thoughts that were going a million and one meters per second, before, eventually, his eyes closed and he was able to allow himself to fall back into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, Jojo here. This is my first Beatles fanfic and my first fanfic in general in four years. I'd like to apologize now if the start's a little slow or the characterization's off at all. It's something I intend on improving as this goes on. Anyway, comments and kudos are very much appreciated (constructive criticism especially). :3


	2. Crippled Inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John proves to be exceptionally bad at coping.

John was accurate in that he did have nightmares. Visions of his death plagued his subconscious all throughout the night with hardly a reprieve in sight. The night terror that haunted him most was one where he saw Yoko and he tried to run to her. But then, he felt himself collapsing before he could reach her, his own blood pooling around him as he fell.

John must have been tossing, turning, and whimpering, because the next he knew, he heard Paul's voice, yelling, "John? John! Wake up!"

John’s eyes flew open to see Paul’s face hovering above his. Paul’s hazel eyes were wide, concern etched into his face. Breathing heavily, John tried to come back into reality, though that was much easier said than done. Considering what was going on, it still seemed too impossible to be actually happening.

The only reason he knew this was real was because of how vividly he remembered the sensation of dying. Even then, before now, he couldn't remember a single occasion in which he'd had a dream within a dream.

Paul's voice again brought him back to reality: "You were having a bad dream, weren't you?"

Part of John wanted to tell Paul everything and get it off his chest. But instead, John settled for something a bit more aloof, "Yeah. It's nothing. I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Yes," John confirmed, sounding a bit snappier than he’d intended.

Then, a quiet voice with a Scottish-Scouse lilt piped up, “But I woke up to you crying for people named ‘Yoko’ and ‘Sean.’”

_Oh god, Stu, why did you have to hear that?_

John wasn’t sure how to play it off, knowing that he wasn’t supposed to know anyone named Yoko or Sean.

“Stu, I promise, I’ll be fine. I was just muttering random shit in my sleep,” John said, looking in Stu’s direction.

Stu raised an eyebrow, but for now, he said nothing more. He laid back down, looking a bit sickly. John assumed Stu was worn out from their rigorous schedule.

Not knowing what to add or say, John got up and got ready for the day, events still weighing heavily on his mind. Part of him was expecting himself to wake up on December 9, 1980. He knew he'd be facing a long recovery in the hospital, but at least he'd still be alive. As it stood, he knew that everyone- friends, family, and fans alike- were now having to deal with the aftermath of his own death.

He’d promised himself when Sean was born that he would be there this time, unlike what happened with Julian. Now, he’d never get the chance to make things right with Julian, and worse, Sean had been left without a father. And unlike the situation with Julian, John didn’t have the chance to go back home. He was stuck in Germany twenty years in the past with no way back home.

As far as he knew, there were already preparations being made for his funeral.

John could feel the tears pricking his eyes at the thought, knowing he’d left so much unfinished business behind, but John knew he’d have to forge on ahead.

_I’ve been given a second chance for a reason… I should probably do my best to make it count._

The future was uncertain, but John collected himself, readying himself to face his bandmates again. It was all he figured he could do to stop himself from falling into a spiralling depression or having a complete mental breakdown.

While the others were mucking about, John managed to find Pete, not trusting himself not to break down around Paul, George, or Stu. John was nervous about facing Pete, knowing where they stood the last time John had seen him. But at the same time, he was the one person John trusted himself to be able to talk to so that he might get some information.

_If he asks, I can just say I’m fucking hungover or something._

John asked, “Hey, Pete? Remind me, what day is it?”

“Um… It’s the 30th of October.”

John was able to piece together from there that it was 1960- a few weeks after his 20th birthday. John continued, “Any big plans for today?”

Pete shot him a confused look, before responding, “Don’t you remember, John? We were going just down the street to that new club. Audition for a show and get a few extra pounds.”

John started to remember what had happened. He couldn’t remember what song they’d played, but he knew that the audition had led to George getting deported. John wanted to gather his mates together, tell them he didn’t think it was a good idea, but then he stopped himself. He knew that their path lay elsewhere. If they stayed in Hamburg past November or December, John had no idea if the Beatles would ever be anywhere near as successful. He wasn’t looking forward to being mobbed again, but he wouldn't change much of it for the world. He also feared that if they stayed here, they’d never meet Brian. And John didn’t want to have to deal with Brian’s job at any time, even though he had a slightly better business sense than he had when he was twenty.

Besides, anything was better than staying in a storage room that near-constantly reeked of piss.

John only gave a nod in response, electing not to change anything about this day. Instead, he focused on the biggest hurdle he had to confront right now: trying to remember how to play a song he hadn’t even practiced in well over a decade.

John knew that a five-year break hadn’t much affected his ability to play music. But, there was a major difference between composing his half of _Double Fantasy_ and trying to replicate his guitar ability from twenty years before. There was also the fact that there were a bevy of songs he hadn’t played in at least a decade, if not longer.

Then it occurred to him to double-check, just so he wouldn’t be thrown completely off-track. “Pete? My memory’s turned to mush today. Can you remind me what song we were gonna play?”

Pete shot him another confused glance but didn’t question it. “Yeah, we were gonna play ‘Besame Mucho.’”

Once again, John could feel that pit in his stomach growing again. He couldn’t even remember when the last time he’d played that song had been. He knew that if he screwed this up, he might be stuck in Hamburg for longer than he had been the last time.

Then again, he felt like he still had enough of a handle on this song that he could at least get through this audition.

Still, he figured that he should still get some last-minute practice in, just so he wouldn’t be completely unprepared.

Grabbing his guitar, he slipped outside and into a back alley. Part of him knew his bandmates would understand if he practiced right there in the storage room with them. But part of him also feared that if he were as rusty as he could potentially be, he’d have to come up with an explanation on the spot. He doubted he could come up with an adequate explanation about why his playing would have gotten so rusty overnight. Besides, he felt a little more comfortable going outside in broad daylight than in the dead of night.

Making sure his guitar was in the right tuning, he started playing “Besame Mucho.” The start was a bit rusty, but he slowly found himself settling back into an old groove. He couldn’t describe the sense of calm it brought, but for the first time since he’d been shot, he felt his nerves start to truly settle.

He’d barely finished the song when he heard Paul’s voice: “There you are, I’ve been looking all over for you!”

John leapt ten feet out of his skin. He hadn’t expected to be this easily startled, but he assumed he was still having an adrenaline rush from the night before.

Paul noticed too, saying, “Christ, I didn’t mean to scare you that bad… Anyway, we’re heading over to the new club. You coming, or- “

“Course I am! Wouldn’t miss if for anything in the world!” John stuttered out, a nervous smile upon his face. Paul raised an eyebrow, and John knew he was acting more than a little suspicious, but if Paul suspected anything at all, he said nothing.

Part of him wished he could just calm down and convince himself it would be okay. Instead that, he started breathing deeply as the others gathered and they walked down the street. For a moment, John debated whether he should put on his glasses. He’d almost forgotten how blind he’d been even as a twenty-year-old, and he didn’t think it would be a bad idea. Still, he left his glasses off. Knowing him, he’d kicked up a fuss about wearing his glasses before, and if he started wearing them now, it’d look strange.

 _As if I wasn’t already doing a good enough job at making myself look like a freak_ , John lamented.

As they walked into the club, John allowed himself to tune out slightly. He wasn’t deaf to the situation, but he wasn’t paying attention to what was going on around him. He could see Paul introducing the band, but John was focused only on getting through this (and in one piece at that).

As they played though, John felt like something was off. He couldn’t put his finger on it at first. There was nothing technically wrong with anyone- save Pete- but it still felt off. And then, the thought came to his head, _Maybe it’s because I’ve heard most everyone here capable of much better..._

Sure, he could remember dragging Paul’s songs through the mud when he was more of a bastard. But part of him could always appreciate Paul’s natural gift for melody, even when his lyrics left something to be desired.

As it kept going, he caught himself playing rougher than usual, and each time, John corrected it. He felt his breath quicken each time he noticed. Privately, he wondered if it was some sort of reaction to the feelings he dared not express otherwise. Each time, though, John tried not dwell on it. He had too much on his plate to start with, and he didn’t want to be the reason they failed this audition.

Before John even knew it, it was over. He bowed deeply from the waist, more out of a long-forgotten habit than anything else and rushed to pack up his guitar. As he put his guitar back in its case, he heard Stu say, “Figured you’d be out there with Paul.”

John sighed, pausing for a moment or two to think of an excuse. “I’m hungover is all, okay?”

“Must be pretty bad if you’re having nightmares and acting far more anxious than usual.”

“Yeah. I’m just having one of those days.”

“You know you can talk to me if you need to, right?”

John nodded. “I know. Like I said though, I’m having a one-off. Nothing to worry about.”

Stu shot him a sceptical look but said nothing more.

Shortly after, Paul, George, and Pete came running over to them. “Guys! We got the gig!” Paul shouted.

Masking his uncertainty over George’s now-impending deportment, John yelled, “That’s great!”

For a bit, John watched everyone else celebrate, but there was still so much that weighed on his mind. John tried not to dwell on it, but part of him started to wonder, _All things considered, am I really going to be able to change anything at all? And if I can, am I just going to make everything worse?_

Not wanting to ponder the answers, John lit up a cigarette and watched as his mates celebrated, trying to ignore his own uncertainties.

***

As they were walking back to the Kaiserkeller, Paul said, “You were playing a bit rough at times, but I think that’s the best I’ve ever heard you play.”

John glanced at Paul from the corners of his eyes. He wanted to tell Paul of the heights they’d all reached- that he was grateful that they’d put their past disagreements behind them before he’d died. But John forced himself to stay silent. He knew at best, Paul would be confused and at worst, Paul would freak out while they were still in the middle of the streets. Instead, John kept his eyes focused on the road ahead, muttering “Thanks.”

Even though it was midday, John still felt horribly uncomfortable, like he needed to be constantly looking over his shoulder. John could feel himself tensing up, the sound of gunshots and Yoko’s screams ringing in his ears. He tried to put that out of his mind, but the sounds kept going, almost on repeat. He could feel his heartbeat picking up and his breath quickening; it was all he could do to take another step forward. _Don’t stop_ , he told himself. _Not out here. Not where…_

He couldn’t bring himself to finish that train of thought. Instead, he glanced towards Paul, who was walking at a faster pace than John. It felt strange to John, but seeing Paul walking forward, having everything to look forward to in life, reminded John that he was also young again. Even if things ended the exact same way, which John doubted, he had just over twenty years. It was twenty years he could use to set things right and set his affairs in order.

And then, while John felt his muscles relax slightly, his doubts started to return in full force. John tried his best to drop that train of thought. As messy as this was, he knew that unless he was a _really_ unlucky bastard, he had at least twenty years to worry about the answers to those questions.

_Maybe this is what I get for telling people to imagine there’s no heaven..._

As they slipped back into the Kaiserkeller, doing their best to stay under Bruno’s nose, John figured the worst was over. He thought could at least have a few hours to relax and try and keep his mind off things. But then, just as John was finally feeling calm for the first time in over twelve hours, he heard a loud bang from somewhere in the club. The sound was almost identical to that of the shots John remembered from the night before.

John screamed, his hands flying towards his ears. He could feel four pairs of eyes staring at him as he began shaking like a leaf. Once again, thoughts of the life and family he’d left behind filled his head. It took everything in John’s power to not scream or sob, at the expense of being completely unable to stop shaking like a leaf. John could feel someone else’s hands wrap around his wrists and slowly lower them away from his ears. Through misty eyes that compounded his already blurry vision, John could make out Stu, blue-grey eyes boring into his. He asked, “John? You okay?”

By now, it took every ounce of John’s strength to keep himself from throwing up. He knew that if he told the truth of things, not only would his resolve completely break down, but he knew that everyone here would find him utterly insane. Beyond that, he couldn’t think of anything he could say to explain this. The only thing he could manage was tiny, almost imperceptible shakes of his head. Just off to his left, he could hear Paul mutter, “God, he’s been acting like someone else is out to get him all day.”

“Yeah, a bit weird, don’t you think?” George whispered in turn.

Part of John wanted to keep up his image and scream at them both to fuck off. Another part wanted desperately to scream out the truth, even if he knew no one would believe him. In reality, John was still taking shaky breaths, trying his best to not make a scene.

Offering John a look of confusion, yet understanding, Stu said, “John? Do you want to talk about it, or do you need a few moments?”

It took all John’s efforts to keep his voice as steady as possible as he said, “Can I just have a few moments please? I’ll be fine, I swear.”

Stu’s face conveyed scepticism, but he obliged, backing away to give John a few moments.

John, meanwhile, tried taking deep breaths, wiping away any stray tears. The day was only partway done, and already he was failing at hiding what had happened to him. He knew at this rate, he’d never be able to hide the truth from everyone else forever. Hell, at this rate, Stu, Paul, and George were already getting suspicious. He couldn’t say whether Pete was catching on, but he knew he’d catch on soon if they hadn’t already.

The most prominent question in his mind now was how long he could make it last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. I just wanted to apologize first and foremost that it took so damn long to put this out. Writer's block stopped me dead in my tracks multiple times throughout the writing of this chapter, and on top of that, I also started my second year of college, so I also had to put my homework ahead of fic writing multiple times. Anyways, I have a decent idea in my head of how I want the third chapter to go, so I hope to get that out sometime in January. Until then, stay beautiful. 
> 
> Also, I meant to have this finished by John's 80th birthday. I'm settling for today instead, as it's incidentally around the time last year that I first came up with the idea for this story. 
> 
> Anyways, I'd like to thank Emilyberries for beta-reading the chapter before this, as well as everyone who left comments and kudos on the previous chapter. As always, it's much appreciated :3
> 
> Edit: Sorry for any formatting issues. I've fixed those to the best of my ability


End file.
